


tu étais formidable, j’étais fort minable

by neomeruru



Series: The Katsuki-Nikiforov Sex Palace [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom!Yuuri, Future Fic, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marriage, Multi, Mutual Pining, Open Relationship, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Pining, Polyamory, Rimming, Spanking, Sub!Chris, Sub!Victor, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Victor Nikiforov: That Boy is a Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9383654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru
Summary: Chris visits Victor and Yuuri at their home in Saint Petersburg. It's been a long time coming.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I'm going to write Victor/Chris/Yuuri!  
> Also me: How about I write 3500 words about their Feelings first?  
> Also me: How about you make the porn really, really self-indulgent?
> 
> This story takes place in a series where Victor and Yuuri live together in a new apartment in Saint Petersburg; no prior knowledge is required. It's approximately 5-7 years in the future, ages fudged a little.
> 
> Title from Stromae, [Formidable](https://youtu.be/S_xH7noaqTA): "You were wonderful, I was pathetic."
> 
> [This fic has been podficced by Rhea](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10168019). Thanks, Rhea!!!

Contrary to popular belief, Yuuri doesn't usually do the cooking. For all he can tell you about the many pleasures of home-cooked Japanese food, he's terrible in the kitchen. In Hasetsu, he lived off of his mother's cooking; in Detroit, he lived off of cereal, fruit, and take-out. By the time he graduated, he knew every local delivery driver by name.

In St. Petersburg, it's Victor who usually cooks, which works for them both just fine, considering that after twenty years as a professional athlete, Victor can make and follow a meal plan in his sleep. He's gotten more creative in recent years, but Yuuri would go back to eating plain chicken breast and steamed vegetables every day to save them both the indignity - and the very real possibility of indigestion - if Yuuri were responsible for the cooking.

Victor's too nervous to cook today, though.

"You're pacing," Yuuri mutters, coaxing a smear of cream cheese onto a cracker. He doesn't even have to look over his shoulder. The anxiety coming off of Victor is charged, like static electricity.

Victor's footsteps stop. "Maybe his flight was delayed."

The cracker in Yuuri's hand splinters under the knife. Yuuri swears under his breath in Japanese and tosses it in the growing cracker graveyard, like the traitor it is. "Maybe he's just Chris, and he got distracted by something shiny." He picks up another cracker, which fractures in his hand before he can even get the cream cheese on it.

Before he can enact revenge on the cracker, Victor's arms come up around him and pluck the remnants from his fingers. Resting his chin on Yuuri's shoulder, he pops the pieces in his mouth and chews. Yuuri can feel the movement of his jaw, which is just distracting enough to keep him from getting frustrated and angry with himself.

"Mmm," Victor starts to say with his mouth full, then swallows. Yuuri can feel that too, along with Victor settling in against his spine. "You know, he probably knows how to put cream cheese on his own crackers."

Yuuri huffs and puts down the cheese knife, instrument of torture. "He probably also knows how to catch a cab at the airport and sit in it for twenty minutes."

"I should have sent a car," Victor says, wistfully.

"And these were supposed to have tomato slices and rosemary on them," Yuuri says as he gestures to the pile of cracker pieces. "We've both made mistakes."

He can feel the way Victor relaxes against him, the slow glacier melt of his smile. He turns in the circle of Victor's arms to embrace him, tilting his head to rest on his husband's broad shoulder. Three years since he skated professionally, and Victor still had all his lean upper body strength, even if they'd both gone a little soft around the middle in the meantime.

"We're a mess," Victor admits first, wrapping his arms around Yuuri's shoulders and squeezing. His soft cotton shirt smells like laundry, comforting. "I feel like I'm going to come out of my skin. Tell me again that this is okay."

Yuuri strokes Victor's back, the familiar topography of his muscles. "It's okay. Whatever happens tonight, _if_ it happens tonight, it's okay. I mean…" He takes a steadying breath and tries again, to be more clear. "Nothing you can do is going to come between us. I'll be fine, as long as you're having fun."

Victor's exhale is hot against the side of his head. "Thank you," he says, after a while.

"Of course," Yuuri says, and means it. Long past are the days where he would have balked at the prospect of being Victor Nikiforov's moral support, but time — and marriage — had changed them both. Instead he just rubs Victor's back as they stand barefoot in their kitchen, surrounded by failed attempts at hors d'oeuvres and the memories of conversations already had.

They both jump when the landline rings, staccato. Victor recovers first, darting over to pick up the phone before it rings again. "Hey," he says into the receiver, then, "Yeah, the penthouse. See you soon."

He punches in the front door passcode and hangs up the phone while Yuuri scrapes the crackers into the organics bin. From the earth, back to the earth, with a detour for betrayal.

"Hey," Yuuri says, without looking up, "Love you."

That, too, has only gotten easier with time.

"Love you," Victor answers quietly, distracted. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri can see him leaning restlessly against the kitchen island, changing positions every few seconds, looking very much like a man who has only a cursory relationship with inner peace.

When there's a knock at the door, Victor stands up a little straighter. "It's open," he calls.

 _No one should look that good after getting off a plane_ is the first thought that goes through Yuuri's mind, followed swiftly by _I didn't know Chris wore glasses_ , then Victor and Christophe are hugging and it's momentarily too loud to think.

" _Mes amours!_ " Christophe exclaims, clapping Victor on the back. He pulls back and grabs Victor by the shoulders, holding him at arm's length as he makes a show of looking him up and down. "Incredible. You look fantastic. I like what you've done with this," he says, flicking the little stub of a ponytail Victor'd taken to wearing. "And just this, in general," he says as he turns to Yuuri, gesturing to all of Victor. "Well done, you."

Victor laughs and crosses his arms. His nose is going a little pink. "Are you done?" he asks.

Christophe's answer is to grab Victor around the body and spin him once, still laughing. "Complimenting you? Telling the truth? Never!" he proclaims, before setting upon Yuuri. He kisses Yuuri twice, once on each cheek, not even in the air, then slings his arm around his shoulders. "You're the most wonderful looking people I've seen all day. And I'm not just saying that because I've been on a plane for the better part of it."

"Chris," Yuuri warns - no, not a warning, not with the warm feeling that uncurls helplessly in his stomach.

Christophe only smiles, a real one that crinkles the edges of his eyes. "It's good to see you. I missed you at World's!"

"We saw _you_ ," Victor says, cocking his hip to lean against the counter again.

"We would have gone, if you'd told anyone it was going to be your last competition!" Yuuri adds.

Victor's hand flies to his chest. "We had to find out from the press conference, like common people!"

Christophe's smile falters, though he recovers quickly. "It was a good skate though, wasn't it," he says, thoughtfully. "Even if it was only a silver."

Neither Yuuri nor Victor offer false platitudes; Yuuri knows the sweet singing pain of fighting for second place well. Even Victor knew it now — the climb back to world champion after taking a year off had been impossible, even for him, especially with Yuri at their heels. Chris had obviously hung on as long as he could, but time had caught up with him too.

And now they were retired, so old to be only in their thirties.

Yuuri's about to open his mouth to change the subject when Christophe launches forward. "I brought wine," he says, going to his carry-on bag. He pulls out a bottle and gives it to Yuuri before turning to Victor. "And I still need a tour."

Yuuri turns the bottle over in his hands to read the label as Victor takes Christophe further into the suite. The name of the winery is in French, though this French is the kind he knows: " _Ménage à Trois_?" he reads aloud, dubiously.

"Live in optimism!" Christophe calls over his shoulder. Victor turns back to Yuuri and shoots him a look laden with meaning, and Yuuri just shrugs.

 _I didn't say anything_ , he pantomimes, and Victor rolls his eyes. Yuuri gets the distinct impression that it's directed at Christophe.

The wine is a red and doesn't need to be chilled, so Yuuri just gathers three mismatched wine glasses and uncorks it straight away while Victor gives Christophe a perfunctory tour. Truthfully, they don't need to leave the living area; Victor points out the rooftop patio with the hot tub, the hallway to the guest bedroom, the staircase that leads to the lofted sitting area and master bedroom. Its bones are modern, all glass and concrete and steel, but between the two of them they'd managed to breathe life into it.

Christophe lingers over the gallery of framed photos taking over one of the walls, photos from their skating careers interspersed with more candid shots of their travels since retiring. He touches the frame of the central image, a photo of Victor and Yuuri on their wedding day, flanked by Christophe and Phichit as their best men. "What a good day," he says. "I'm glad you have this one up."

Yuuri comes up behind them, carefully balancing two glasses in one hand and a third mismatched one in the other. "Here — I'm sorry they don't match, we usually only have two of anything."

Victor relieves him of the precarious two and gives one to Christophe. They clink glasses, but no one offers a toast — they look at each other expectantly, before Christophe laughs and says, "To being able to eat and drink as much as we want, without coaches breathing down our necks."

"Here, here," Victor and Yuuri echo, and gratefully drink Christophe's prophetic wine.

The wine is smooth and, honestly, nothing to write home about; Yuuri smiles into his glass knowing that Chris, usually a wine connoisseur, had probably chosen it entirely for the name. Victor must be having the same thought, because when Yuuri glances over he's wearing the same secret expression.

Chris finishes his drink first — Yuuri hadn't filled it all that full; the night is young — and he looks at the two of them. "Speaking of," he says, "Is there food? I had a sandwich in Amsterdam, but that was hours ago."

"Ah…" Yuuri stammers, "There is, technically, food…"

"But considering you're free now, perhaps we can order a pizza?" Victor cuts in, rescuing Yuuri from having to explain his inability to assemble cheese on crackers.

Christophe's eyes go wide. "Extra everything," he says.

"I know," Victor laughs. "We remember what it's like."

 

And that's how they end up eating pizza and drinking wine on the couch, Victor's back to Yuuri's chest and his feet nestled in Chris's lap. Chris eats his pizza with his other hand encircling Victor's ankle, affectionate with his friends in a way that still astounds Yuuri. Chris is a man who'll pole dance in front of a crowd, who'll greet Yuuri by cupping his buttcheek in public, who'll promise a hundred lewd fantasies in the same breath as asking where the bathroom is, and yet:

It's comfortable.

He knows Victor and Chris had slept together, often, and passionately — two paired puzzle pieces: separable, but belonging together — until one day they stopped. Because of Yuuri. Yuuri knows this part, too. And when he once expected to see pain in Chris's eyes, when he expected Chris to turn cold and angry and jealous, Chris only opened his arms and welcomed him into his life.

He doesn't know when he finally realized that Chris has a tender heart beneath the surface, but here, in private, he can catch a glimpse of _how_ : the way he runs his hand along Victor's foot but goes no higher, the way he pushes with flirtation until he meets resistance and goes no further. It's in the way he looks at Victor, the way he smiles at them both, like a banked fire sits in his chest and he's content to warm himself on the coals.

Chris has never asked for more than anyone was willing to give. And Yuuri gives; he gave himself, opening slowly to accept Chris as a friend, as a fixture in Victor's life that would never be completely unseated.

But he took, as well. In another world, Victor Nikiforov and Christophe Giacometti would have been the romance for the ages, coming up from Juniors almost together, orbiting the skating world like electrons on the same atom. It was only Yuuri that had pulled the pieces apart forever. Though of course it had always been Victor's choice to be with him, it didn't dull the feeling that Yuuri had taken Victor from Chris, and Chris from Victor.

He'd never seen Victor look as guilty as the day he revealed how much he knew, which was all the confirmation he needed. And when the apologies and reassurances of their love were over, after Victor had fallen asleep in his arms after hours and hours of conversation, Yuuri knew he had to make it happen.

He watches Chris's thumb stroke the fine bones of Victor's ankle and he knows they're doing the right thing.

"— don't you think, Yuuri?"

Victor's voice startles him out of his thoughts, and Chris smiles fondly at him from across the couch. "S-sorry," he says. "What was that?"

Victor's head tips back against Yuuri's chest to look at him. "Where were you? I was just saying, the hot tub is the obvious place to take a party."

"We're having a _party_ now," Christophe adds, drawing out the word. "Victor's decided."

"Oh, well, we do have champagne," Yuuri says. "Seeing as it's your retirement and all."

Chris claps his hands, once. "Ah, my friends know me so well! And me, having packed my swim trunks, for exactly this reason."

 

Getting ready in their bedroom, Yuuri expects to feel anxious. But he waits, and it doesn't come. Victor takes his hand though, and runs his thumb along the bridge of his knuckles. Their eyes meet and Yuuri smiles, feeling more comfortable than he thought he would, and the quick flash of relief in Victor's gaze is rewarding in and of itself.

Victor kisses his knuckles, lips catching on the bright gold ring. "You're alright?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," Yuuri says on an exhale, and is surprised to find out he keeps meaning it. "A-are you gonna go for it?"

The light is dim, but Yuuri can see the way the blush spreads across Victor's cheeks.

"Good," Yuuri says, taking his hand from Victor's lips to cup his face. " _Davai_ , Vitya."

 

Chris is already waiting by the patio doors when they come down the stairs, in his tiny swim trunks, with one of the towels from the second bathroom over his shoulder. "I put my things in the guest bedroom. I didn't want to climb all the way to yours," he says, winking at Yuuri. Yuuri can barely contain the secret that threatens to leak out of his smile, but he manages, barely.

Victor detours to the kitchen to retrieve the champagne from the fridge, collecting three red plastic solo cups.

Christophe laughs, but Victor just shrugs. "Yuuri has strong feelings on whether glassware is allowed near the hot tub."

"Safety first," Yuuri chirps, opening the sliding door. It's April, but it's also Saint Petersburg, so it's still almost freezing outside. They're all hardy winter folk, so there's only a modicum of scream-cursing as they rush to the hot tub and Chris and Yuuri wrestle the lid off. Victor's the first in, carefully babying the chilled champagne.

The string of rapid French that comes out of Christophe's mouth when he dunks himself to the shoulders sounds an awful lot like cursing, and Yuuri has to agree as he lowers himself gratefully into the tub. The hot tub belches steam into the air, thick enough to partially obscure their faces.

"You have a dirty mouth," Victor chides as he carefully portions the champagne into the cups.

Chris accepts a cup, even as his teeth chatter. "I have it on good authority you enjoyed it," he says.

Victor smiles conspiratorially as he passes a cup to Yuuri, keeping one for himself. He shifts his body as he does, so that he's again reclining against Yuuri's side with his feet in Chris's lap. "To the road well-travelled," he says, as he raises his cup. They tap their cups together, the soft red plastic folding instead of clinking.

"And to you, Chris," Yuuri adds. "Congratulations on your retirement. I'm sorry we couldn't be there for your last skate."

Christophe looks down into his cup. "Cheers," he answers, somber. The heat's brought the blood to his face. It's endearing, Yuuri thinks.

The silence stretches a while, comfortable. They drink.

"It was a good skate, Chris," Victor says, finally. Under the water, Yuuri can tell by the motion of his leg that he's running his foot along Chris's thigh. "You don't have anything to be ashamed of. You finished strong, and you left on your own terms. That's more than anyone can ask of a career."

Chris leans his head against the lip of the hot tub, exhaling a breath of steam into the cold air. "I didn't tell anyone I was retiring. Not even my coach, not until I got off the podium. I didn't want anyone to know it was my last."

Yuuri and Victor share a look; Yuuri wonders if he's remembering Barcelona as well, their first Grand Prix, the night he hurt Victor by announcing he was retiring. He drinks to avoid that line of conversation.

"When did you decide?" Victor asks.

Chris's laughter is morse code in the steam. "When I saw little Yuri skate! I could tell it was going to be another gold medal for him, and I was just…" He sighs, and drinks deeply before continuing, waving his other hand in the air dismissively. "I was just tired. Everyone knows I was just clinging on to the end of my career; if it wasn't Yuri, it would have been another flexible young thing in his prime. I decided to quit while I was still competitive."

"Chris…" Yuuri starts, but he doesn't know what to say. It's true, every word of it. Everyone knew Chris was past his prime, and without champion status to justify it; it was a miracle he'd pulled off one more medal at all.

Chris waves him away, mustering up a smile. "It's okay. I got used to coming in second to a Yuri. It's not a bad place to be."

Yuuri can feel the way Victor tenses, underneath his arm. There's no way Christophe doesn't see the hurt Yuuri knows written on his face.

"Oh, _shit_ ," Chris says, sitting up straighter in the water. "That's… that's not what I meant, I'm sorry." He sets his cup down on the edge of the tub and puts his face in his hands. " _Shit_. That came from the champagne, not me."

Yuuri looks at Victor, who looks uncharacteristically at a loss for words. His eyes are pleading.

 _Go_ , Yuuri mouths, pushing Victor gently out from under his arm.

Victor nods, sparing Yuuri one more glance as he glides through the water. He approaches Chris slowly, almost submerged so that when he gently slides his hands up Chris's arms to grasp him by the wrists, they're looking at each other. "Chris," he says, softly.

Chris closes his eyes. "I'm sorry. I know we don't talk about it. I meant to make a joke, and it… it was just a bad joke."

"Chris," Victor repeats. "Can we? Talk about it, I mean?"

"I'm fine, I didn't mean to…" Chris trails off. His voice is so quiet. "Can we just forget I said it?"

"Christophe Giacometti," Victor says, his voice stern. "If we don't talk about it, I'm just going to kiss you and be done with it."

"No," Chris groans, struggling with Victor to put his hands over his face again. "That's a terrible idea. Don't say that."

"If you don't let me kiss you, I'm not leaving this hot tub until you tell me, to my face, that you don't want to."

Chris catches Yuuri's eyes over Victor's shoulder, and the guilt laid bare there is enough to make Yuuri's heart skip a beat.

"You want to," Victor breathes.

Chris doesn't take his eyes off Yuuri. "You know I do," he whispers, and it doesn't matter who he's talking to.

"Do it," Yuuri hears himself say, before the command to speak leaves his brain.

Chris finally tears his eyes from Yuuri, darting between Victor's gaze and the mouth that Yuuri knows aches for the kiss, for everything that comes along with it.

He nods.

They move together: Chris's arms encircling Victor, Victor angling his body so he straddles Chris in the water, giving him a few inches of height. His hands cradle Chris's face. Chris's eyes when he looks up at Victor are reverent.

When Victor kisses him, the sound that Christophe makes is that of an animal in a trap: disbelief, fear, inevitability. His hands flex on Victor's back, digging furrows into the flesh. Victor strokes his face, his hair; he cups the back of Chris's head and angles them so Chris's mouth falls open, helpless under him.

"Victor," Chris groans, the end of which is greedily swallowed by Victor's mouth.

Yuuri can barely watch, but he does, and he examines the heavy knot that forms in his chest at the sight. It's not jealousy, he's relieved to discover. It's not. But his heart hurts all the same, at the manifestation of all the pain that Chris and Victor pour into their kiss, as if it is their first. As if it could be their last. It _is_ their last kiss, in a way, the closure he stole from them when he literally waltzed into Victor's life and shut Chris out forever, without any of them even knowing.

Someone whimpers; it's Chris, and Victor moves his hand to wipe away the tears pooling in the wrinkles of Chris's eyes without even breaking the kiss. But Chris laughs too, remembers he has hands: hands to stroke up and down Victor's back, to disappear under the water and cup Victor's ass. Then they're breathless, giddy, mouths sliding together, teeth knocking, relearning each other.

Victor breaks the kiss to laugh, throwing his head back in exhilaration. Chris leans his head against Victor's chest, wraps his arms around Victor and holds him like he might float away.

" _Fuck_ , Vitya, I've missed you," he mutters into Victor's chest. It's the most wonderful confession.

Victor tilts his gaze back down to earth like a god pleased with his creation. He cards his fingers through Chris's short hair. "I've missed you so much," he replies, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to the top of Chris's head.

Through the crook of Victor's arm, Yuuri can see the way Chris's long eyelashes flutter shut, trapping unshed tears. "Tell me you've talked about this already," he says. And Yuuri hears it for what it is: _please don't tell me this is it. Don't make me let go again._

"Extensively," Yuuri says, and Victor laughs again. Chris holds on tighter, but Yuuri sees the tentative smile start to form, the fragile glimmer of hope in his tender heart.

 

They make it out of the hot tub, flushed bodies now uncaring of the freezing night air. Victor and Chris are attached at the waist, at the hands, and mostly at the mouth as they tumble into the living room. Yuuri follows along behind, collecting cups and closing doors.

He hears the _thump_ and the cackle as one of them hits the spiral staircase in reverse and takes them both down, entwined as they are. Victor's on top, again, kissing Chris by pressing his whole body against the stairs, holding his wrists above his head, taking with abandon what's been waiting for him all along.

"Wait, wait," Chris says between kisses, "I'm gonna fuck this up. You have to tell me what I'm allowed to do."

Victor growls, literally _growls_ , and leans in to bite Chris's neck.

Yuuri drapes himself over the railing and looks down at Chris, pinned like a butterfly against the stairs. He's suffering. It's beautiful. "You can do anything Victor wants," he says, "Just follow his lead."

"I want everything," Victor groans, then sucks another bite into Chris's neck; Chris's eyes flutter and threaten to close, but he valiantly holds Yuuri's gaze.

Yuuri feels a surge of pride at that, actually.

"And you," Chris manages. He slips one hand from Victor's grasp and uses it to stroke Yuuri's cheek. "What about you?"

Yuuri takes Chris's hand and folds it in his own, then returns it to where it should be: on Victor. "Not me," he says. "I'll be here, but… not yet, okay?"

Chris nods, and then his eyes do close as Victor's hand drifts lower, cupping him firmly through the tight fabric of his swim trunks. Together they peel them off, not even taking them off all the way, just dragging them down to his knees so his legs are bound together and his cock strains forward, intact and thicker around the shaft than the head. Victor makes a hungry noise and takes him in his mouth immediately, swallowing him down.

Chris shouts and kicks, his head thrown back to thump against the stairs. Every breath is just _oh, oh, oh, Vitya, fuck_ , his hands delicate around Victor's head, resting but not pushing or clinging, even as his fingers work into Victor's hair and worry the little ponytail free.

Victor makes a noise of frustration when the silver fringe falls in his eyes, pulling off of Chris with a wet _pop_ as he tosses his head to get it out of his face.

"I've got it," Yuuri says, and reaches down to gather Victor's hair in his fist. Victor shoots him a look that's half gratitude and half heat; his mouth is wet and red, his lips already swollen with exertion. Yuuri wants to kiss him, wants to take that mouth for his, and he has to remind himself by tightening his grip, pulling a little so Victor's head snaps back, so he has to look him right in the eyes. _Now,_ the look is all heat.

"Do it right, Vitya," he orders, with a voice that doesn't sound like his own. Both Victor and Chris shudder under his control, and Yuuri feels a thrill condense in his veins.

He gives Victor some slack and he descends on Chris again, his cock disappearing into Victor's throat. The sound is obscene, not just the wet sound of his mouth but the choking moan that comes with it as Victor palms his own cock through his swim trunks. Yuuri gives him that, for a while.

"Not too much," he murmurs after a few minutes of it, tightening his fist. Victor makes a hurt noise, pulling away as if it physically pains him. It probably does. "You want him to fuck you, don't you?"

Victor nods — as does Chris, charmingly. Yuuri releases Victor's hair, giving him license to suck the head of Chris's cock into his mouth, laving it with his tongue, as gentle as an apology.

"We, we have to go upstairs," Chris stammers, sitting up with great difficulty. Just Victor's lips are distended around the crown of his cock, a filthy kiss, and Yuuri watches Chris trace them with his thumb, so tender. "If I only get this one more time, I want to do it right."

Victor crawls up the stairs to kiss Chris properly, deeply, taking his head in both hands. "I want you," he says into Chris's mouth, fiercely. "Not just tonight."

For a split second, Yuuri's worried he sees sadness flit across Chris's face, before he smiles instead. "Okay, Vitya," Chris says, fondly. "Let's just enjoy it, okay?"

 

How many times Chris must have done this with other people, with other couples, Yuuri wonders as he ascends the stairs after Chris and Victor. How easily he accepts what's given, never puts himself in a place to want more. But how much he must have wanted this specifically, and how afraid he must be.

They're kissing against the door to the bedroom, Victor's swim trunks already halfway down his thighs as they grind together. His hand searches behind him for the door knob as Chris razes his mouth, digs his fingers in to Victor's sides, holds on.

The doorknob works and they all but fall into the room together, a whoop of laughter echoing out from the bedroom as Yuuri smiles and picks up Victor's and Chris's trunks from the landing. The bed groans; he enters the room just in time to see Victor leap into bed and straddle Chris, who's splayed out on the bed as if pushed.

Yuuri divests himself of his trunks too and throws all three pairs through the ensuite door into the bathroom, then sits on the bed to watch.

Victor and Chris are kissing again, Victor grinding down against Chris where their hips meet, breathless as they gasp into each other's mouths with every stuttering motion. Chris's hands slide artlessly up and down Victor's sides, his thighs, in his hair, down his arms to tangle with Victor's hands on the bed. Victor groans and takes Chris's hands, folding them together in his; he puts them on his chest, interlacing their fingers.

" _Touch_ me," Victor reminds Chris, mouthing the soft skin under Chris's ear. Chris's gaze falls on Yuuri, and Yuuri nods.

Chris closes his eyes, and turns his head for Victor's mouth, one hand coming up to tangle in his hair again as Victor sucks dark marks into his throat. With the other, he traces the soft curve of Victor's stomach, delicately runs his fingers down Victor's long flushed length to the head. Victor hums and thrusts into his hand as Chris closes his grip.

Chris strokes Victor confidently, like he knows exactly how he likes it, which Yuuri supposes he does. They both know the secret paths to Victor's pleasure. He doesn't need to see the exact movements of Chris's hand to feel it as if it's his own — his body reacts already to the way Victor gasps and shudders against Chris.

"Ah, ah, Chris," Victor pleads, his mouth open and all teeth against Chris's neck. "Yuuri — "

Yuuri jerks forward, as if pulled by a string. "Here," he says, running his hand over Victor's trembling flank. "I'm here."

The sound Victor makes is relief.

"Come up here," Chris says, his voice hoarse and wet with kisses. He grabs Victor roundly by the ass and hauls him up, forcing Victor to clamour for the headboard. Yuuri has an excellent view of Victor's cock disappearing into Chris's mouth, the dirty hollow of Chris's cheeks as he sucks him in deep. Victor holds onto the headboard even as his back arches, contorting into a bow as good as any _danseur_.

Yuuri strokes the inverse curve of Victor's back, still clammy and warm from the hot tub, flushed and scored from Chris's fingers. He carries his pain on the outside, the good and the bad, effortlessly responsive. Victor's body has never kept a lie from him. Yuuri can feel every tremor, knows every sound that falls from him as Chris encourages him to fuck his mouth.

"I can't, I have to — " Victor gasps, tapping Chris on the head. Chris pulls off, heaving for breath, chasing Victor with an open wanting mouth even as he retreats. Victor holds himself tightly around the base, visibly restraining himself as Chris lays open-mouth kisses along the shaft, uncaring of the way spit and pre-come smear his face. "I won't be able to go again like we used to. I only get one, these days," Victor continues, apologetic.

"You used to be able to?" Yuuri asks.

Victor laughs, and Chris joins in right after. "I was eighteen, once," Victor says wistfully, rubbing his other hand into Chris's smiling, filthy face.

Yuuri feels himself blush. "Yeah, I have a pretty good memory of that."

"Yuuri, that's dirty," Chris croons, as Victor leans over and kisses Yuuri, all smile.

Yuuri melts into the kiss, feels the craving to touch and be touched by Victor rise deep in his belly. He kisses Victor until the smile falls away, until Victor's body remembers what it's like to be kissed by him. Victor slings an arm over Yuuri's shoulders and leans into him, still straddling Chris's chest, as Yuuri takes deeply from his claim to Victor's mouth.

"Fuck _me_ ," Chris breathes, from below.

When Yuuri releases him, Victor looks dazed. He doesn't even follow up with the obvious joke.

"I want to help," Yuuri says, quietly. "Can I?"

Victor nods, wide-eyed. "Please, yeah," he says.

Yuuri has to get off the bed to get the lube and a few condoms from the nightstand, and by the time he returns, Victor's laid himself out on top of Chris, his head tucked into Chris's neck while Chris strokes his hair, pulling it away from his face. Despite the affectionate picture, the rest of Victor's body is sin: straddling Chris so his ass juts up in the air, the obscene dip of his spine. Chris's other hand digs into one cheek, lifting it up to bare Victor to Yuuri's gaze.

It feels like all of Yuuri's breath leaves his body at once. The blood certainly leaves his head, which explains how dizzy he feels when he leans in to kiss the base of Victor's spine.

"Oh," Victor breathes, tilting his hips into the contact.

From there it's as easy as temptation itself to bend his head to breathe across Victor's hole, to watch the muscles there quiver in anticipation. He kisses Victor's other cheek, down to the sensitive place where his thigh joins his body, and in, where the skin gets impossibly soft behind his balls. Victor whines, legs shifting, his body a plea to be touched.

Victor moans when Yuuri kisses him where he wants it, close-mouthed, teasing. He can feel Chris's hand tighten, pulling the soft muscle of Victor's cheek away to give him more room. Yuuri adds his hand to the other cheek, spreading Victor for his tongue as he circles it, just the tip, over the furled skin.

He doesn't need to hear Victor's response; it's here, in his muscles clenching, in the shaking of his body in his most sensitive place. He hears the wet sounds of Chris kissing Victor overhead and he imagines lashing himself to the wheel, to the happy task of convincing Victor's hole to relax under his mouth.

The taste is only of chlorinated water as he opens his mouth, laving Victor's hole with a flat tongue. He can feel Victor unhinge all over, his thighs on either side of Yuuri's head going boneless and pliant. He spears his tongue forward, finally breaching the guarded place, the way getting easier as he kisses him there, open-mouthed and panting, heedless of teeth as he sucks and licks and fucks Victor open on his tongue.

When Yuuri finally adds a finger to trace along the rim, Victor makes a high noise into Chris's mouth and pushes back, enveloping. Yuuri smiles into him, pulls back to rest his cheek against Victor's ass as he teases Victor with it, the pad of his finger just rubbing against the spit-slick hole as Victor whines for it, tries to tilt his hips for more.

"Yuuri, please, it's torture," Victor moans, hitching his leg up over Chris's thigh.

Chris's hand disappears into the hidden places Yuuri can no longer see, beyond the indecent splay of Victor's thighs, but the way Victor seizes is unmistakeable.

" _Chris_ , ah, ah, fuck," Victor cries, thrusting forward into Chris's hand. He rolls onto his knees, leveraging himself to balance over Chris, seeking the friction of his hand, of his tight stomach.

The motion reveals everything to Yuuri: the wet pink wrinkle of Victor's hole around his finger, his balls drawn tight underneath, and under all that is Chris's cock, hard and just faintly purpling at the tip where it weeps a clear bead of pre-come. Victor grinds forward and it slides up in the space he leaves, smearing Victor's thigh, right under where Yuuri's finger sinks deeper into him.

"Ah, sorry," Chris says, distracted and giddy, and Yuuri catches his eye with a smile.

"It's alright," he says, grinning.

"You can, if you want," Chris offers, "If you change your mind."

Yuuri searches his face, but — as he's come to expect from Chris — he only sees the honest desire to please, offering himself to Yuuri, as much as Yuuri wants to claim laid open for him. Chris's eyes are dark and genuine, stripped of the guile that armors him in public.

And —

Victor jerks and nearly shouts, breaking the connection between Yuuri and Chris. "Ah, ah," he pants, visibly stopping himself from fucking Chris's hand, dragging himself back from the edge. Sweat has beaded on his skin when Yuuri dips his head to Victor's hole again, tenderly tracing his tongue around his finger as he thrusts, slowly, relishing the way it craters Victor's restraint.

With some help from the lube, sliding another finger alongside is easy, Victor's body loose and desiring even with two fingers plunging into him. Yuuri presses a kiss to where they're joined and gets on his knees for leverage, towering over the two laying on the bed.

His new position affords him the depth he needs to find the spot in Victor that wrenches a hoarse cry from him. Victor turns his head into Chris's shoulder and moans as Yuuri mercilessly works that spot, his cock twitching and spurting a constant stream of pre-come onto Chris's washboard stomach. Chris pets his hair, kisses what he can reach of Victor's reddening face.

It's power. It's power, and Yuuri loves it, loves that he can take Victor apart like this. Loves the audience, like performing on the ice. The look on Chris's face is a little like awe, and he drinks it in.

He grabs Victor's rear with his other hand, digs those fingers in, leaves his fingerprints alongside Chris's. Victor sobs, presenting himself for more even as Yuuri's fingers scissor deep in him, molding him to Yuuri's will.

He runs his hands roughly over Victor's flank, testing the give of the muscle in this position. Victor watches him with slitted blue eyes, eyes Yuuri meets for a few long seconds as he raises his hand.

The impact rocks Victor forward, muffling his cry in Chris's neck with a mouth that's teeth and noise. He clenches so well around Yuuri's fingers in his hole, and Yuuri pushes against him, letting Victor ride out the momentary pain with a fresh jolt of pleasure before slapping him again, on the thigh.

Chris curses, eyes wide, as Victor writhes and whines on top of him like he wants to escape by sinking straight into the other man's body. "Do it again," he asks, so nicely.

Yuuri does, in the first spot, his hand welting the already red flesh of Victor's ass, and this time Chris swallows Victor's cry with his mouth, kissing Victor as he sobs into it.

"More, Vitya?" Yuuri asks, finding himself breathless.

Victor's answer is a moan more than a word, every movement of his body telegraphing _yes, yes_.

He shifts so he can get the other cheek without having to take his fingers from Victor, warms it up with a few rough pets before it gets the same treatment — three sharp slaps ring out, welcoming a fresh cry each from Victor — and from Chris, who groans in sympathy with each one.

With each slap, with each involuntary clench, Yuuri can feel Victor relax around his fingers afterwards, until it's so easy to slip a third one alongside and fuck him with it, shallow with the stretch. Yuuri drizzles more lube on his fingers until the slide is effortless, until Victor's body wants him there as badly as he does, until three fingers sink into Victor's hole like he was made for it.

Chris casts around for the condoms and rips one open, then momentarily pauses when he realizes he can't reach himself with Victor in his lap, pinning him to the bed.

"Got it," Yuuri says, taking the condom and making sure it'll unroll the right way — Victor whines deep in his throat at the loss of his fingers, and Chris strokes his shoulders, soothing. When Yuuri slides his hands down Chris's cock, unrolling the condom with them, Chris shudders; Yuuri realizes he's touching Chris, he's _touching Chris_ —

Their eyes meet, and all Yuuri can read on his face is gratitude.

Yuuri swallows and searches for the lube again, upending it over Chris's wrapped cock. He takes a breath and holds Chris's gaze, then wraps his hand around it and strokes to spread the lube. Chris's head drops back on his shoulders and he groans — Yuuri realizes it'd been some time that Chris had been touched at all, and still he waited, waited for this. He's waited so long.

 

Together the three of them manage to arrange themselves, Victor still on top of Chris, with Yuuri behind, supporting him. Chris sits up as Victor lines himself up for him, one tanned hand coming up to cradle the back of Victor's neck.

"Slowly, slowly," Chris murmurs, kissing the jutting rise of Victor's collarbone. "Don't rush this."

Victor's blushing all the way down his chest, a bright red stain spreading on his pale skin. Slowly he sinks down, the way as easy as breathing, until the backs of his thighs are flush with Chris's lap, where they rest.

Victor's head tips back on Yuuri's shoulder, a sigh escaping his lips as he links his fingers behind Chris's neck.

"Good?" Yuuri asks.

Victor just nods his head and turns to press his open mouth to the soft place under Yuuri's jaw. "Please, please tell me I can move now," he whines at Chris, even as his hips undulate ever so slightly.

Chris's laughter escapes as a huff as he wraps both arms around Victor and pulls him impossibly closer, eliciting a bone-deep groan from Victor that Yuuri feels in his skull. "You always look so good when you ride me, Vitya," he says as they start to move together. There's a thickness in his voice, welling up like groundwater.

Victor tips forward to lean his head against Chris as he slowly grinds himself down, languid and nearly boneless. Chris meets him there, forehead to forehead, noses aligned alongside each other, mouths only barely touching, sharing one breath. Gravity, or their own magnetic attraction to each other, does most of the work — only Chris's hands biting into Victor's sides on the way up betrays Victor, drawing attention to the way he fairly trembles with oversensation.

"Chris, oh, Chris," Victor whispers into Chris's brow. Yuuri blushes, but he can't avert his ears for the words not meant for him. "I missed this — I missed you so much — I want — "

Chris groans and leans away, propping himself up with one hand behind him. "Don't," he pleads, even as he snaps his hips up to fuck Victor deeper. Yuuri leans forward to wrap his arms around Victor, his chin on Victor's shoulder.

"Don't say that," Chris continues, though his eyes are on Yuuri's now, "Just be with me here, right now, okay?"

Yuuri can feel Victor nodding, before he tumbles forward to kiss Chris again, taking them both horizontal. He doesn't follow, just strokes Victor's back as Chris plants his feet and thrusts up into him. Victor's whole body moves with the motion, sinuous; from here Yuuri can see the way he takes it so well, the way he cleaves to Chris's cock inside him, the way he rocks his hips back into it to take him deeper.

He palms his cock, stifling a moan. Watching Victor ride Chris is almost as good as fucking him — which is saying a lot, really, because there's very little in the world that can compare. He can sit back on his heels and enjoy it, riding out the pleasure just as much as Victor is. And from here he can still touch, can still trace his fingers at the stretched place where Victor and Chris are joined.

The tenor of their gasps changes abruptly; Chris wraps his arm around Victor and holds him to his chest, tucking Victor one last time into the cradle of his neck. His lips move against Victor's ear, words Yuuri doesn't strain to hear. His other hand grabs Victor's hip and shoves him down, leverage for the way he thrusts up a few more times, gasping into a mouthful of fine silver hair as he comes.

Victor moans, wrenching his hips down like if he can get close enough he'll be able to feel it, even through the condom. He lunges up to take Chris's vulnerable mouth, kissing him through it, drinking in the sound of Chris's high-pitched breathing, a feedback loop.

Chris makes a wordless noise and throws his head to the side, looking down to slide his hand between their bodies. Victor pulls back enough to let Chris get a hand around him, thrusts forward into it.

"Yuuri too," Victor manages, even as the movement of Chris's hand wrings his voice in his throat. "I'm so close — please — "

What can Yuuri say, what can he think but, _of course, Vitya_.

Chris lifts Victor up and off and it's easy, so easy to slide home in Victor. Victor makes a sound like he knows it too, undulating back weakly as Yuuri fucks him bare. He's hot and slick and perfect inside, and Yuuri doesn't bother to stifle his praise.

He leans forward, running his hand up Victor's back to grab his shoulder and pull him closer, punching a cry from him as Yuuri slides deep, the position affording him more power as he urges Victor on, trapping him between his cock and the tight embrace of Chris's hand.

Chris looks stricken underneath them all, eyes fixed on Yuuri's face. Yuuri huffs a smile, taking Chris's hand where it rests on Victor's back, interlacing their fingers. Chris blinks a few times, as if coming out of a fugue, and turns his head to press messy kisses against Victor's sweat-slick temple.

Victor comes with a shout, finally earning his release. Yuuri can feel his muscles shudder, from the flat plane of his shoulder under their hands to the tight clench around his cock inside Victor. It feels like he comes forever, spurting messily and repeatedly over Chris's tan chest. Chris works him with his hand as Yuuri slows, mindful of the timbre of Victor's hoarse cry — he's so close to overstimulated, and Yuuri doesn't want it to be over, not this.

"Yuuri, move," Victor moans, and Yuuri goes to withdraw when Victor's eyes fly open and he grabs blindly for Yuuri's hip. "No, no — fuck me, I can take it, please," he begs.

"Yeah, you can," Yuuri says, pride circling his heart for his husband, who takes and takes only because it's so easy to give him everything he wants. Yuuri leans forward to kiss the back of Victor's neck, his freckled shoulderblades. Victor whines underneath him, breathes through his teeth, taking it so well even though it must be right on the knife's edge of pain to be fucked so deeply, so soon after coming.

It doesn't take long. Yuuri's so wound up from watching Victor and Chris that he's already there, is almost surprised to feel himself go down that dark tunnel and into the bright light so soon, moaning his release into the knobs of Victor's spine. Victor groans in relief, even as he moves to drive Yuuri's spend deep within him.

Yuuri takes a moment just to breathe and survey the other two before he pulls out; Chris has both hands in Victor's hair and leans in to kiss him tenderly. Yuuri feels almost apologetic as he carefully withdraws, Victor hissing into Chris's mouth.

"Are you alright?" he asks, gently squeezing Victor's flank.

Victor nods, putting his forehead to Chris's mouth to kiss. "It's just so much," he says, awe colouring his voice.

Yuuri looks over at Chris, who gives him a tired thumbs-up as he strokes Victor's head.

A knot of worry Yuuri hadn't known he was carrying unravels, carrying his ability to stay up on his knees with it. He flops over on his side, pulling Victor as he goes so they're back to front, Victor facing Chris. He puts his cheek to Victor's shoulder, wrapping his arms around him like they've done so many times, only a sheen of sweat between them. He can feel Victor and Chris kissing lazily, just from the way Victor shifts under his cheek.

It could be minutes, but it feels a lot longer — Yuuri feels like he passes in and out of consciousness, but Victor and Chris don't move, only just sometimes he can hear them murmuring to each other in their patois of English and French. It's warm and Yuuri can feel happiness alight in his heart, enough that it's easy to pass the time just holding Victor to his chest.

  
——  
  


" _Yuuri!" Chris laughs as Yuuri approaches, raising his glass of champagne. "The man of the hour. One of the men. You just missed Victor," he says, gesturing to the powder room door behind him. "Though, I feel it is my duty as best man to guard this door with my life, if you wanted to go in...?"_

_Yuuri blushes and shakes his head, waving his hands in front of him. "N-no, that's all right," he stammers. He takes a fortifying drink from his own champagne. "I wanted to talk to you, actually, if you have time?"_

_"For you, Yuuri, of course I do. It's your day."_

_Yuuri wants to take another drink; he doesn't, but it's close. "I… I wanted to know, uh, how you're holding up, I guess? This is weird, sorry."_

_Chris's smile falters, just a millisecond. "I'm going to need more than that, I'm afraid," he says, too smoothly._

_Nope. Yuuri drinks. "I don't think you do," he pushes. "Standing beside Victor today, I — I'm sorry. He shouldn't have put you in that position. It was unfair to you. I'm sorry. I just wanted you to know."_

_Chris stares at Yuuri, his mouth opening and closing on something entirely different before his shoulders slump. "Yuuri,_ I'm _sorry. If you even knew, I wasn't in control of myself enough."_

 _"Chris, I have_ eyes _," Yuuri retorts, "And Victor told me, obviously."_

_Chris puts one hand over his eyes, though he's smiling. "Ah, of course he did. The non-disclosure agreement I made him sign did make allowances for spousal privilege."_

_"You made him sign a — "_

_Chris pushes Yuuri in the shoulder, lightly. "Of course I didn't. Our coaches, on the other hand…"_

_"Chris," Yuuri chides, "I'm being serious."_

_Chris smiles into his champagne, taking a sip. "I know," he says, "And here I am, joking. I appreciate it, Yuuri. You're a good person, better than our Victor deserves. Oh, don't make that face!"_

_Yuuri realizes he's grinning, and covers his mouth with his hand. "I still don't know if you were joking about the NDA."_

_Chris mimes zipping his mouth and throwing away the key._

_"And I still don't know if you're okay," Yuuri says, floundering his way back to what he wanted in the first place. He reaches out and touches Chris lightly on the arm._

_Chris waves him away with the hand holding his champagne flute. "I am. It's a beautiful wedding. And I'm proud of you, even if it is a little weird to be attending the wedding of the person with whom you lost your virginity, and vice versa."_

_Yuuri can feel himself go red again as he laughs, despite himself. "Oh," he grins, "Actually, ah, it's funny — Phichit too? I don't know if Victor told you."_

_"Yuuri!" Chris exclaims,_ "Petit? _That's scandalous!"_

_They both look out into the reception hall, to where Phichit is doing the other half of the duties of best man by keeping the crowd entertained so Yuuri could slip away at all. He catches their eyes and flashes them a brief thumbs-up._

_"Don't tell him I told you, neither of you have any discretion at all, and if he thinks everyone knows — "_

_"Oh, Yuuri, I_ absolutely _intend to tell him," Chris says, his smile going a little sharp. He puts his empty glass down on the floor and straightens his bow tie. "I'm going to go see if he's interested in closing the loop."_

_"No!" Yuuri whines, though he's laughing. "You need to be our best men for a few more hours, come on!"_

_Victor comes out of the powder room, then. "Oh! Handsome stranger!" he exclaims, leaning down to kiss Yuuri on the cheek. Their hands entwine. "Yes, I suppose you'll do, but you'll have to be quick — I'm a married man now, and my husband is very jealous."_

_He starts pulling Yuuri back into the powder room, a secret smile in his eyes just for him. Yuuri blushes and follows, heated under Chris's interested gaze._

_"Ah," he stammers, "I'm sorry, Chris, do you mind — "_

_Chris leans against the doorframe, looking for all the world like he has nowhere better to be at all. "Of course," he says, with a smile. "Have fun."_

  
——  
  


Eventually, Chris clears his throat.

"I'll go sleep in the guest room," he says, sitting up slowly. "It's all right, I like my space."

"Since when?" Victor murmurs sleepily, keeping his hand on Chris's chest even as he rises.

Chris takes Victor's hand and gently places it back on the bed. "Victor," he says, and it sounds like punctuation. The end of a sentence all on its own.

Yuuri kisses Victor's shoulder and rises as well, grabbing the throw blanket from the foot of the bed to wrap around him in their absence. "I'll get him set up, Vitya. You relax."

Victor's eyes have already drifted closed, a sleepy smile curling his lips. "That was good," he murmurs, so quiet he must be asleep by the time he finishes saying it.

Yuuri smiles down at Victor, but when he looks up at Chris he's not wearing the same expression at all — his mouth is fond, but his eyes are sad.

Yuuri doesn't know if he sees him watching. "I'll, uh, hold on, I'll get you his robe," he says, sliding out of bed so he doesn't feel the urge to push it further.

"Yeah, thanks," Chris murmurs, turning away from Victor.

 

They move through the apartment like thieves in Yuuri's own house, not needing much more than the moonlight streaming through the huge living room windows. They stop in the kitchen for water, spending a few companionable minutes watching the moon set.

Chris sits on the counter and peers into the open organics bucket, raising his eyebrow at Yuuri. "Don't ask," Yuuri mutters, and Chris laughs.

Eventually they wander to the guest room. Chris hesitates on the threshold, turning back to Yuuri. "I — " he starts, then thinks better of it. "This was really nice," he tries instead, though the expression on his face seems larger than the words that bracket it. "Thank you for… ah…"

Chris trails off, a question writ between his lips that doesn't come out. Instead: "If you want to do it again sometime…"

Yuuri watches him falter again and again, and empathizes with it like a pain that blooms in his chest.

Chris blows all his air out through his mouth, running one hand through his hair again. "This isn't usually so difficult for me? I'm sorry. I'll get a handle on it," he promises.

"Chris," Yuuri says, gently. "I had a really good time too. Everything is fine, okay?"

Chris nods, unconvincingly. "I just — you two are so… good. Better than Victor and I could ever have been. I stood beside you at your _wedding_. You know I don't want to come between you."

Yuuri waits, in disbelief that _Chris_ has left that one so open. He feels the smile spread across his face before he even opens his mouth. "Technically," he says, "You still haven't."

The wide-eyed expression of shock that blanches Chris's face is its own reward, and Yuuri laughs uncontrollably as he sputters. "Yuuri!" he exclaims. "I didn't know you had it in you!"

Yuuri claps his hand over his mouth. "We didn't do that either!"

Chris groans, throwing himself against the doorframe in agony. "Yuuri, stop, I'm not ready for this side of you!"

Yuuri wipes his eyes, giggling. "Fine, fine," he says, taking a deep breath to get himself under control. "Uh, there's more towels in the closet in the guest bathroom, and some more blankets if it gets cold. You can shower in the morning if you want, there's plenty of soaps, all hotel stuff…"

He knows Chris is watching him, not really listening. He can feel the tips of his ears turn red. "What is it?" he asks.

Chris's mouth twitches. "I was just… I'm going to ask you something, and you have to know, it's completely fine if you say no. We'll still be okay."

"Oh," Yuuri says, "Okay. What?"

Chris looks like he's steeling himself, which is a novel enough expression in and of itself. "I just wanted to know… is it okay if I… kiss you?"

"Oh," Yuuri says again. "A goodnight kiss?"

"Anything I can have," Chris says, quietly. "I expect we'll have a lot to talk about tomorrow. But tonight — "

Yuuri leans in and kisses him, tentatively. Chris is only surprised for a moment before he cups Yuuri's face in one hand, not holding him there, just tipping the angle so they don't break apart immediately when Yuuri sways into him.

His tongue is on Yuuri's lips and Yuuri lets him in, though Chris goes no deeper, just traces the inside of his mouth tenderly. When they break apart their lips want to stick together regardless, and Yuuri stays, feeling Chris's breath warm on his lips.

"Thank you," Chris whispers, taking his hand from Yuuri's cheek. He keenly feels its loss.

"Yeah," he says, touching his lips with a wondering hand. "You too."

Chris laughs, looking down at the floor. "I guess… I'll see you tomorrow. Thank you for a wonderful night."

Yuuri nods, not trusting his words. Chris steps into the room and closes the door behind him, with one last fond look at Yuuri as he does.

 

And Yuuri goes upstairs, to the room he shares with Victor, slipping between the sheets and curling up behind him. Victor stirs as he wraps his arms around him, turning his head for a kiss. "Good?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," Yuuri says, as he tucks his head against Victor. His head is swimming, but Victor grounds him. "Good."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I intended this to be a one-shot, and then Yuuri and Chris kept having unresolved feelings for each other, and really needed to bang. And then I was writing it, and _Chris_ wouldn't get out of his head for _two fucking seconds_ to get himself in the right headspace for it, so this got a bit emotional before it got hot. Which, I mean, it's me, so that's not a big surprise.
> 
> Completely optional coda - if you'd rather Chris's feelings be unexamined, or if you like the tension unresolved, you can feel free to skip this chapter. They're separate for a reason -- sometimes I like to be sad, and sometimes I want characters to talk about their feelings and live happily ever after, haha. :)
> 
> Please enjoy the next installment of the unlikely triad!

Victor's usually an early riser, so Yuuri's not surprised to find someone sitting at the kitchen table when he comes downstairs. What _is_ unusual about this morning is that it's Christophe Giacometti, wearing Victor's robe, quietly eating a bowl of cereal as he scrolls through his phone. Chris, who looks unfairly composed, and who also kissed Yuuri last night; Chris, who looks up and waves as he approaches, calling, "good morning, Yuuri!"

"Ah, good morning," Yuuri says as he slips past Chris on his way to the kitchen. He takes his favorite mug from where it hangs on a hook under the cabinets and pops it under the coffeemaker. "Um, did you sleep okay?"

Chris gives Yuuri a little smile. "No, I'm feeling a little jet-lagged, I think. Nothing some coffee won't fix. Do you mind? Your machine only beeped at me when I tried."

Yuuri puts another mug under the second spigot and programs the machine for two cups, then pats the round little coffeemaker. "She's a little old, but she likes me. We'll have to get a new one soon, I think."

He leans against the counter, crossing his arms and stretching out his neck as he waits. Chris sits with him in companionable silence, tapping the occasional comment out on his phone. The coffeemaker sputters and bubbles, filling the kitchen with the scent of Victor's usual brand of coffee.

He's gotten down to stretching his quads when the coffeemaker finishes filling both mugs, and he takes them over to the table, passing one to Chris.

"Cheers," Chris says, warmly. Yuuri stretches his hamstrings on the chair across from Chris before he sits down and starts rolling his ankles under the table as he waits for the coffee to cool down. Chris watches him with interest over his phone. "Have you ever tried yoga?" he asks.

"Yes, a bit," Yuuri replies. "Victor's better at it. Why, do you?"

Chris makes a so-so motion with his hand. "Less than I should, though…" he starts, trailing off thoughtfully. "I'm still getting used to the idea that there's nothing I _should_ be doing."

Yuuri smiles, "You can do things just for fun, now. Isn't it weird?"

Chris puts his phone facedown on the table and leans in, chin in hand. "Yes. But I'm finding I'm enjoying it more than I thought."

Unbidden, Yuuri can feel the blood rush to his face. He quickly takes a sip of the coffee, even though it's still too hot. He tongue doesn't want it, and it drips a little onto his grey bathrobe.

"Ah," he says, dabbing at the dark splotch with his fingers, which doesn't work in the least. "Um. What do you have planned? For your retirement, I mean? Like, travel?"

Chris laughs softly, tipping his head. "You and Victor traveled quite a bit, didn't you? I saw the pictures when you posted them, I was very envious. Especially the ones in Thailand — I don't remember where I was at the time, but wherever it was, it was very cold."

He takes his mug and considers it, wrapping it in his hands. "Did you know, I've lived in Switzerland all my life, and I haven't been skiing for fifteen years? Too dangerous, even in the off-season. So, I suppose it doesn't matter where I go, so long as there's something there I can do that I wasn't able to before."

Yuuri doesn't detect any guile in Chris's voice, but he still rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand while he sighs. "Chris, I can't do this part," he admits, feeling a little defeated. "I don't know if we're going to talk about it or if we're just going to dance around it, it's very stressful."

A look of relief dawns on Chris's face, before he folds his arms on the table and rests his head on them. "Oh, thank God," he mutters, shoulders deflating as he breathes out in one big sigh. "I didn't sleep at all."

Yuuri feels a little guilty; he slept like a proverbial baby, because Victor has that effect on him. Chris had just been alone with his thoughts in the guest room. "I'm sorry," he says. "Were you worried?"

"Who, me?" Chris says, muffled by the cradle of his arms. He jerks his head up, and his face is a little flushed. "I was _terrified_. I have no idea how much you and Victor had talked beforehand, if you were really ready — I still don't know what you want me to be."

"Chris, I — " Yuuri says, leaning in and putting his elbows on the table. "We should have talked about it with you beforehand."

Chris covers his face with his hands. "And I should have insisted on it; it's not like it was my first time sleeping with a couple. But he was so _happy_ — and it felt so good — I lost myself," he sighs. "I wasn't prepared."

It feels like a cold vice closes around Yuuri's chest. "Chris, I'm so sorry," he says, reaching out to rest his hand on Chris's arm. "I hope you don't regret it. I don't. And I know Victor… last night was everything he wanted."

Chris puts one hand over Yuuri's, though the other one still covers his face. Yuuri wishes he could see his eyes, could read the expression there like he did last night so easily. "The problem is… it was for me, too," he says. His voice is heavy with something that sounds like misery. "And the longer it went on, and especially afterwards when I had a chance to think… the less I'm okay with that. It wasn't just a _good time_ for me, it was…"

Chris takes a deep steadying breath, and Yuuri waits.

"Victor was like… the kind of book changes your life the first time you read it," he says, slowly. "I always thought, you only get to read a book for the first time once. Every time after that, you're just remembering how much you loved it. It'll never be the same, but you love it anyway, even if you never read it again. And I had made peace with that."

Chris shakes his head. "I took the book off the shelf last night, and I found out I still loved it as completely as I did the first time. I'm so sorry. Last night was a mistake. I thought I could handle it, but I can't."

Grief constricts Yuuri's throat. He blinks away the tears that have sprung up suddenly. "No," he says.

"I'm going to change my flight," Chris says. Worse than misery, his voice has gone flat. He breathes in deeply and quickly in a way that sounds suspiciously like a sniffle. "Thank you for having me — I'm sorry I brought this to your home. I thought I was stronger, but I'm not."

He picks up his phone.

Yuuri lunges forward and slaps it out of his hand, sending it clattering back down to the table. "Chris, don't," he pleads.

Chris's hand hangs in the air. "Yuuri?" he asks. His eyes are hurt, and Yuuri hates it, he hates it. He hates that he put that expression there.

"Stay here with us," Yuuri pleads again. "Talk to us. Talk to Victor. He loves you so much."

"Don't," Chris whispers.

Yuuri takes Chris's hand. "He loves you so much that he was willing to risk me walking away, because he couldn't keep it inside any more. He told _me_ , his _husband_ , that he loves someone else. Please, stay and talk to him. Be as brave as he was, okay?"

Yuuri clenches Chris's hand in his, probably too hard. He can feel the bones under his fingers. But Chris doesn't pull away, and Yuuri wishes he could send the strength Chris needs straight through that connection to him.

"Shit," Chris breathes after a while, his other hand coming up to blot his eyes. " _Shit_. I thought I was done crying."

Yuuri does the same. "I didn't think I was going to," he says, wiping away a few tears that have spilled down his cheeks. "You should have _said_ , Chris; you were just going to sit here and eat breakfast and smile and pretend you were fine, when it hurt you so much to stay."

Chris puts his hand over his heart. "It still does," he admits. "The worst part is, I'm not even sure leaving would have hurt less."

Their linked hands are at Yuuri's lips before he thinks too hard about it, and he presses a fervent kiss to Chris's knuckles. It's the same gesture of love he'd done with Victor so many times, and from the way Chris tenses, Yuuri knows he recognizes it. "So stay. Just today, and if you still feel like you need to, you can still change your flight tomorrow. But give him a chance first. Give me a chance, too."

Chris turns their hands to lace their fingers. "You and Victor are something else," he says after a while, quietly.

Yuuri sits, resting their hands on the table. He curls the other around his coffee cup and takes a drink — it's the perfect temperature. "I used to worry a lot," he admits. "That Victor would leave me when he got bored, when he realized he ended up with regular old me, especially when we retired."

Chris strokes Yuuri's palm with his thumb. "He wouldn't," he says.

"I know that, now," Yuuri replies, feeling a smile tug on the corners of his mouth. "He's stuck with me, because I'm not going anywhere. I've loved him for too long to want anyone else, so there's nothing he can do that'll turn me away. And if he loves you, that's fine. He loves me too. I want him to have both."

Chris's expression is raw. He squeezes Yuuri's hand and withdraws, taking his own mug instead. He drinks deeply, and Yuuri appreciates the lull in the conversation. Chris must as well, because when he's done he just stares into his mug, looking a little overwhelmed. Yuuri empathizes; it's a lot to take in. He has a season pass to the Victor Nikiforov Loves You show, but it's been a while since Chris had tickets.

After a while, Chris clears his throat and picks up his phone.

"You'd better not be — " Yuuri starts, smiling.

Chris flips his phone around and waves the screen at Yuuri. "Instagram," he says. "I promise."

"Good," Yuuri says, leaning back in his chair. He fishes his own phone out of the pocket of his bathrobe. "Oh," he continues, as he opens his own feed. "Do you want to go for a run later? Victor hates it, so I haven't had a running buddy since Makkachin passed."

Yuuri doesn't look up, but he can tell even out of the corner of his eye that Chris looks surprised. "That sounds really nice," he says. "I think I'd like that a lot. Thank you."

"Yeah," Yuuri says, and lets Chris sit with that a while. Seung-Gil has posted a picture of his new dog, and Guanghong and Leo are posting pictures from Disneyland. Minami's got a picture of his infant son wearing his bronze medal from Worlds. He scrolls for a bit, smiling, obliquely watching Chris stare at his phone and not scroll for a long time. He actually has to click his phone on again when he tries.

They look at their phones in silence for a while, occasionally stifling a laugh at something private on their screens.

"Oh, _Petit_ is in Greece?" Chris says, after a few minutes.

Yuuri smiles; he had just scrolled to that point too. "Yeah, look," he says, turning his phone. The next photo is Phichit making an inappropriate kissing face at a nude male statue.

"I saw that one too!" Chris chuckles, and Yuuri joins in. It's nice, clawing their way back to something like normal, even if it still feels a little awkward. Phichit would be pleased to know he's being used as an olive branch.

"So, ah, he never…" Chris says, waving his hand to indicate Yuuri and, up the stairs, the place where Victor is still sleeping, and the whole apartment in general.

"What, like," Yuuri gestures between himself and Chris in return, "This? Oh, no. We've definitely both moved on."

"Oh," Chris says, thoughtfully. He looks a little relieved.

They lapse into silence again.

Yuuri's just about to get up to get himself some actual breakfast when Chris makes a noise in his throat. "Ah, you said before, you don't want anyone other than Victor," he says, tentatively.

"Yeah," Yuuri replies, settling in again. "I mean, there's no one else that I really _love_ , you know?"

A cloudy expression passes over Chris's face. "Then… I'm sorry, if I asked for too much last night. You said you didn't want to be involved, and then I went and…" he makes a gesture with his hand that evokes butterflies coming out of his head. "And then we kissed. I shouldn't have asked, and put you in the position to have to say no."

"Chris," Yuuri says softly, and puts his hand on Chris's again. "I wanted to kiss you. I'm glad you asked. I didn't know how."

Chris exhales, with a smile that shakes at the edges. "Oh," he says. "Good. That's… good."

"I… wouldn't mind doing that part again sometime, either," Yuuri says, "I don't know what that means for us, but I liked it." He finds himself clenching his other hand on his thigh under the table, steeling himself. "Maybe… we could do more next time. If you want."

"Oh," Chris repeats. His eyes are wide and, like Victor does, his nose is starting to go a little pink. Yuuri feels a rush of affection for them both. "Yeah. I want that too," Chris says.

"Good," Yuuri replies, finally feeling a sense of rightness settle in his stomach. His hand relaxes, as does the rest of his body as he leans back in his chair. Breakfast feels a lot less compelling, compared to the way Chris's blush spreads from his nose across his cheeks. A familiar desire kindles in him — not as strong as what he feels for Victor, but a beginning, maybe.

"And — do you like it, how I am with Victor?" he asks, pushing his chair away from the table. He hasn't felt this nervous in a long time, but instead of being harrowing, it feels almost exhilarating. A little chaotic, unlike the way that Victor feels like coming home. It makes him want to take back control.

Chris follows his motion with hooded eyes, a small interested smile quirking his lips. "I was surprised. Obviously, I knew what Victor liked, but… it's another thing to see it in action. It's a good look on you."

"I know," Yuuri says, voice low. "I already know what Victor likes."

He angles his body away from the table so his legs fall open, just slightly, in Chris's line of sight. The way Chris's eyes drop immediately to the shadowed place where his bathrobe parts is thrilling. "What about you, Chris?" Yuuri presses. "Do you like men like me?"

"There's never been a man made quite like you, Yuuri," Chris breathes, and slides out of his chair to his knees.

 _How brave Chris is_ , Yuuri muses, _and how trusting_ , as Chris slowly moves on his hands and knees the short distance between the chairs. To anguish all night with only his hurt feelings for company, and to have decided to do what he felt was best for Yuuri and Victor, even though it would have hurt even worse. Chris puts himself in the space between his legs, and Yuuri lays his hand on his cheek with a swell of pride. "Thank you," he says quietly, and hopes Chris understands what he means.

Chris turns his head to press a kiss to his palm, chaste, but heavy with promise.

Yuuri leans back, slouching a little so his legs part even more. Chris sucks in a breath, and it seems to give him an idea, because he circles his hands around Yuuri's ankles and leans in — Yuuri can feel them run up his calves as Chris presses his nose to the brief overlap of fabric that guards his modesty.

Chris's hands keep going up, sliding under Yuuri's bathrobe, up the outside of his thighs. He breathes in, deeply, groaning on the exhale as his thick eyelashes flutter shut. His lips part.

Something in the ceiling above creaks, and a little trill of alarm sounds in Yuuri's ribcage. It seems to hit Chris at the same time, because he pulls away in an instant, eyes wide.

"We need to tell Victor," Chris whispers. His voice is thick.

"We _really_ need to tell Victor," Yuuri agrees.

Yuuri can't take his eyes from Chris. They stare at each other for a moment that seems to stretch forever — Yuuri's heart hammers in his chest.

Slowly, Chris runs his hands back down Yuuri's leg to the ankle, then past, cupping Yuuri's feet. Carefully, so carefully, he bends over and presses a tender kiss to the arch of Yuuri's foot, then to the other.

Overhead, somewhere behind Yuuri, they can both hear the sound of the bedroom door opening and closing, Victor's footsteps coming down the stairs. It's too late to move and claim complete innocence, so Chris just sits back on his heels, Yuuri's feet still pillowed on his lap.

Yuuri prays for understanding.

Victor's footsteps stop at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, considering. Chris's eyes are behind Yuuri, undoubtedly on Victor; Yuuri closes his, taking a deep breath.

Victor's hand lands softly on his shoulder. "Good morning, you two," Victor says, and his voice is warm, if a little subdued. Yuuri lets out his breath.

"Hey," Yuuri says, tilting his head to rub his cheek against Victor's forearm. Chris echoes him. Victor's hand runs over his head, ruffling his hair, before he comes around into Yuuri's line of sight and goes into the kitchen. 

Victor takes down his mug and pops it under the coffeemaker, switching out the little cup of instant grounds as he does. The coffeemaker chirps and he turns around, crossing his arms over his chest as he considers Chris on his knees before Yuuri.

"I'm surprised," he murmurs, one finger coming up to press against his lips. "Of everything I thought we might talk about this morning, I didn't expect this."

"I don't think we did either," Chris says, and Yuuri nods in agreement.

A slow, stunning smile spreads across Victor's face. "But you like each other? That's…" He clasps his hands on his chest, over his heart. "I didn't think I could be any happier, but here it is."

 _Oh_ , Yuuri thinks, as he feels Chris's hands relax around his feet. He doesn't know how he feels about Chris, not entirely, but _like_ is the largest part he can name, and the knowledge feels comfortable sitting within him.

Yuuri clears his throat. "Vitya," he says, and Victor's eyes snap to him. Yuuri watches him settle into the particular posture that he recognizes as his husband preparing to listen to him very, _very_ carefully. "Why don't you sit down, hmm?"

Victor's eyes light up. He takes his mug from the coffeemaker and pads over to the kitchen table, taking up the seat Chris had vacated minutes before. He sits down gingerly, which almost makes Yuuri feel guilty, until he notices Victor rock forward to bring the tenderness to the surface.

"Vitya, greedy," Yuuri teases, and Victor flushes with an embarrassed smile. He tucks one foot under his knee and cradles his mug in his lap, watching with rapt attention.

Yuuri turns his gaze to Chris. "Chris and I had a good talk," he says to Victor, though he locks eyes with the man on his knees. "And you two need to talk, too. But we have unfinished business, don't we?"

Chris nods. He looks beautiful on his knees.

Yuuri spreads his legs again and Chris once more slides his hands up them, this time parting the thick fabric of the bathrobe so that it falls away to either side. Yuuri gestures with his head, and Chris breaks eye contact to look down, taking in an interested breath as his eyes fall on Yuuri's cock lying between his thighs.

"Do you want this, Vitya?" Yuuri asks, flicking his eyes up to where Victor sits forward, straining to see as well. "Do you like him on his knees for me, too?"

"Yes," Victor breathes.

Chris murmurs his assent and leans in, finally, pressing his lips to the curve of Yuuri's shaft. He kisses down its half-hard length, until he can envelop the tip in his lips. Yuuri reaches down and pulls back his foreskin, and Chris chases the revealed head with his mouth, taking Yuuri up to the crown.

"Mmm," Yuuri hums, shifting to give Chris more room. Chris responds by getting even closer, wrapping his arms around Yuuri's lower back. Yuuri fairly sinks into his mouth then, eliciting a pleased groan from them both. Chris's head bobs as he sucks Yuuri to his full hardness.

He's good — of course he's good, Yuuri had no illusions about the veracity of Chris's claim to his skill in bed. Or, in this case, in the kitchen, though the sweet wet suction of Chris's mouth quickly has Yuuri wondering about his skill in more inventive places. He feels his lips part, hears his own breath start to quicken as Chris takes him in earnest.

"That's so good," he praises Chris, laying a hand alongside the shaved sides of his head, and Chris hums in pleasure. He strokes Chris's head with his thumb, lightly, as Chris takes him even deeper.

A hand comes up to cover his, and Chris looks up at him through his lashes as he presses Yuuri's hand in time with the rhythmic slide of his mouth. Yuuri understands, and slides his hand up to get a better grip on Chris's short blonde hair.

At first he just matches Chris's pace, getting a feel for the scope of Chris's comfort. The first time he applies pressure, Chris's eyes flutter shut and his mouth goes a little lax, and the thrill of power that's always dormant in Yuuri flares to life. He still goes slowly at first, just pushing Chris a little, bouncing his head on his cock deeper than the pace he'd set just enough that Yuuri can feel his throat muscles tense in anticipation.

He looks up at Victor, whose whole body is a tense line of desire as he watches Chris take Yuuri's cock. Their eyes meet, and Victor smiles like he's just been given a present. His sheer happiness is contagious, and Yuuri can feel himself smile helplessly in response.

"Vitya, touch yourself," he offers, and Victor jumps to comply; he puts his mug on the table and cups himself through his sweatpants, stroking the swell of his cock with trembling fingers. He lets out a breathy moan as he rubs himself with the heel of his palm, and Yuuri is gratified to feel Chris's hands clench against him at the sound.

"He likes the way you sound," Yuuri says, pushing Chris's head down a little more so that Chris's throat momentarily seizes around Yuuri and he groans deep in his chest. "Maybe he wants you next," Yuuri continues, and Chris's green eyes slit open as Yuuri drags him down again.

Victor's hand disappears under his sweatpants, tenting the fabric with the minute movements of his knuckles underneath as he tries to draw it out. "I can't wait," he murmurs, fervently.

"Do you hear that?" Yuuri says, even as he tightens his hand in Chris's hair. "Listen to how badly he still wants you, even after getting what he wanted last night. You're going to have to stick around," he continues, not unkindly. He can feel sweat start to bead on the back of his neck.

Chris looks up at him properly, lashes wet from exertion, a challenge in his eyes. He slips Yuuri's hand and takes him deep in his throat, burying his nose in the black thicket of Yuuri's hair. Yuuri feels himself let out a moan, and he stuffs his knuckles in his mouth as Chris works him passionately, a long filthy slide that starts at the crown and goes all the way into the dark welcome of his throat, over and over, until Yuuri's thighs are trembling and his whole body is tight.

The blood roars in his ears. "Chris, I'm going to — " is what he manages before Chris releases him, quickly taking Yuuri in hand to pump his cock until he spills on Chris's face, on his open mouth. Yuuri's head spins as Chris takes him in again, his come-splattered lips sucking the rest of his spend from the source.

Yuuri doesn't usually swear, but it's worth a slow _holy shit_ as he melts into the chair, tipping his head back to look up at the ceiling. Chris licks him clean, gradually fading to gentle kisses as Yuuri's reality slowly comes back into focus, before finally pulling the soft thick fabric of his bathrobe closed.

Chris gingerly lays his cheek on Yuuri's thigh, over the bathrobe. "Hey," he says, almost a question.

"Yeah," Yuuri answers, lifting his hundred-pound head to give Chris a grateful smile. "Go see Vitya."

Chris smiles back, and they hold each other's gaze for a few seconds before Chris sits back on his heels and spins to face Victor, whose flush has spread down to the collar of his black shirt.

"Vitya," he whines, "I'm a mess."

Victor huffs and leans down, scrubbing his thumb over Chris's cheekbone. It comes away wet with spend, and Victor pops it in his mouth with a cheeky grin. "There," he announces, and leans in to kiss Chris on the lips. They both let out little noises of pleasure, the quick peck Victor intended lingering much longer than Yuuri thinks either of them expected. Victor curses in Russian when they finally part, then, "Now would you _please_ get your mouth on me, I am literally dying."

Chris laughs loudly and helps Victor negotiate getting his sweatpants off without too much undue movement, mindful of Victor's still tender places. Victor settles back in his chair, lazily stroking himself while Chris kisses his knee, up his thigh, the backs of Victor's knuckles.

"Chris, oh," Victor exhales as Chris takes him in his mouth. His hand moves from his cock to the side of Chris's head, Chris's hand coming up to lace their fingers together. Unlike Yuuri, Victor doesn't push; he just holds Chris's hand and looks down at him, an unspeakably fond expression on his face.

Chris laves Victor's cockhead with his tongue, sucking noisily and enthusiastically in a way that can't be anything other than performance, because Victor laughs quietly like they're sharing a private joke. Then Chris bends himself to the real task, and Victor's mouth falls open so prettily that Yuuri almost feels blessed to be able to see it from his angle.

Chris moans suddenly, and Yuuri looks down to see him stroking himself, Victor's borrowed bathrobe hastily pushed to the side. The shoulder of the robe slips off with the movement and Yuuri watches Chris's back muscles flex, fascinated.

Having now been the recipient of Chris's immeasurable skill, Yuuri isn't surprised when Victor's noises quickly take on an air of the inevitable. Chris takes Victor just as deep in his throat, hollows his cheeks, moans and gasps around Victor's cock even as he strokes himself to completion. They crescendo together, Victor coming first in Chris's mouth with a high-pitched gasp, Chris following shortly after with the taste of Victor on his tongue.

Chris pays Victor the same attention he did Yuuri, but doesn't pull away immediately. Victor strokes his hair and whispers praise in French and English both as Chris folds his legs underneath him, resting his head in Victor's lap. Yuuri can't see Chris's face, but it must be beautiful because the way Victor looks at him is so tender and soft and loving that Yuuri has to turn his head away just to give them the privacy of that moment together.

"Are you okay?" Yuuri hears Victor ask, quietly. "That wasn't too much, right?"

Chris is quiet for a long few seconds. "I wasn't okay," he says, slowly, "But I'm feeling better, even if I'm a little scared."

"Hmm?" Victor replies.

Chris sighs. "What do you want from me, Victor? I still don't know. If it's a live-in boyfriend, I don't know if I can."

"Giacometti, you have a wandering heart," Victor chides. "Like you'd stay in one place long enough, let alone here."

Chris is silent even longer, and this time he lets out a sigh. "You're not angry?"

"I don't care what you call yourself," Victor says, and out of the corner of his eye Yuuri can see that Victor's taken Chris's head in his hands. "But I love you, you idiot, and I couldn't go the rest of my life without you knowing that. Whatever you want to do with that information, I..." Victor trails off, and Yuuri hears the wet slide of a kiss. "I hope that you'll come and stay, sometimes. And if you have to go, that's fine. You'll always be welcome back."

Yuuri turns his head to see Chris surge up to kiss Victor again, his fingers knotted in Victor's shirt. When they break, Victor's not done. "You have your whole life ahead of you, Chris. No one's going to tell you what to do. You get to decide. I hope you decide to love me back."

"Victor," Chris whispers, weakly. "I never stopped."

Victor rubs his thumb under Chris's eye, as if blotting a tear. "I know, but it sounded good, didn't it?"

"Victor," Chris repeats, this time unimpressed, and Victor's laugh rings out like celebration bells.

They go on that run eventually. Chris outshines Yuuri in speed, but as usual Yuuri obliterates Chris in endurance. They kiss under the awning of Victor and Yuuri's apartment, soaking wet from a surprise rainstorm, and when they go upstairs Victor's been making crêpes the whole time, so there's that.

And it's good, it's good for a long time — Chris changes his flight in the end, staying much longer than anyone thought, until one day in June he says he's been thinking of traveling, and books a flight to Brazil. Victor and Yuuri see him off at the airport, and follow his pictures as he travels up through South America and the Caribbean for a few months.

It's a grey day, a Sunday, when Victor gets a call: "I'm in Saint Petersburg, can I come over?" So they fluff the pillows in the guest bedroom and over the next few weeks sometimes someone sleeps there, and sometimes no one does at all.

The next time he goes and comes back they have a dog, a big Bernese Mountain Dog who sleeps in the guest room when Chris is over, because there's no room otherwise for three in a bed, and it works just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I write! I draw! I make julienne fries! Your comments literally sustain me! Join me [on Tumblr](http://chaoslindsay.tumblr.com) for my fanart and other stuff!
> 
> This fic is remix-friendly: I give blanket permission for non-commercial translations, podfics, remixes, inspired fanfic, and fanart! Just let me know where you put it, so I can make sure others see it too!


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